The French Basement
by TheTwoHetalianSams
Summary: When Alfred and Mathew go missing, and Francis invites Arthur over to discuss important issues, an unwanted surprise is exposed. Then, Arthur is forced to survive through all four weeks of what is a true hell, and unreal situations. WARNING: This story is extremely graphic, disturbing, and triggering, read with caution!


**Hello everyone! This is a long one-shot that i wrote, and while you're reading, you will possibly get mad at me for how OOC France is. I want to make things clear of why i'm writing him this way.**

 **I was talking with my sister and she mentioned how disturbing some of the French national anthem lyrics are. Now, my family LOVES France, so this wasn't meant to be mean, and i don't know how the direct translations sound, but in English, they can be very... scary. For example, in the English translation says "Bloody banner is raised.", "let an impure blood water our furrows!" , "what does this horde of slaves, of traitors and conspiratorial kings want?" and more. These really just made me think of aph France as a murderer and psychotic. Now, i know he isnt nor do i think of him that way, but when i heard these lyrics, it gave me the idea for this fanfiction. That is the only reason i'm writing this, so please don't get mad at me for thinking of this, i know this isnt the character at all, but OH WELL I'M WRITING IT ANYWAY!**

 ** WARNINGS: Language, Extreme violence, murder, lots of torture, mental illness, and very detailed with gore and LOTS of blood, basically, don't read this... I have a very disturbed mind :3 **

**DISCLAIMER: i dont own the characters, but the plot and writing are mine!**

 **PLEASE, THIS STORY IS EXTREMELY DISTURBING AND GRAPHIC, READ WITH CAUTION!**

* * *

Arthur put down his newspaper when he heard his phone ring in his pocket, hoping it was Alfred. He nor Mathew had come back home yesterday after visiting Francis, and it was very unusual that Alfred didn't call in the morning. He decided pulled out the phone to see who was calling, which ended up giving him a small pit of disappointment when he saw it was Francis. Though, Arthur was also very scared that he was calling to give bad news, but answered anyway, hoping for the best.

"Hello?"

" _Bonjour_ Arthur!"

"Francis." He never really liked how Francis always answered the phone so happy with him, they didn't like each other, so why try and be happy on the greeting?

"I was wanting you to fly over to my place to talk about some very important issues." The tone in his voice was less soft and enthusiastic now, and more cold. It sent chills up his spine, not liking how that turned so fast.

"What 'important issues'? Where's my Alfred and Mathew?" He realized he was jumping to conclusions and raised his voice. Something about this he didn't like, but what?

"Commet? Mon ami, they left my place yesterday, I thought they had come home. Perhaps they went to visit Gilbert, teenagers these days never tell adults where they are off to." Not appreciating the smart-allic attitude, he pushed his eyebrows together and wrinkled his nose. But then thinking of the topic of important issues, Arthur himself did have some things he wanted to talk to him about.

He let out a puff before starting again, "Fine, I'll come. I'll be there tomorrow at noon." Then he hung up before letting that frog respond, he didn't want to hear another word from him. He didn't like how any of this sounded, and continued to worry for his Alfred, but thought that Francis was probably right and just went back to his newspaper. The house was once again left in an erie silence with only the sounds of his grandfather clock, and his newspaper crackle. Arthur sat in his chair all day that day, waiting for Alfred to call him, but it never came.

* * *

The next day, Arthur was walking up to Francis's door, ' _France is a beautiful country, almost as beautiful as mine_.' He thought smugly. Once he approached the door, he noticed how tidy and clean the house was, very organized and beautiful. Arthur took a moment to look before the door opened for him and he quickly looked in front of him to see Francis on the other side. He was smiling and wearing his casual clothes, his silky long hair swayed in the breeze that drifted in on the warm day.

"Bonjour, Arthur. I see your enjoying my house there?" He lifted his brow up, suggestively thinking. Arthur tensed up and blushed, angry that he would purposely make him embarrassed.

"Just let me in so we can talk and get things works out already." He hid his face, not wanting Francis to see how red his face was, and keeping his voice professional and abrupt. Francis understood the frustration and swayed to the side, making room for Arthur to pass by. He held his arm out, inviting the Brit inside his home. Arthur still had an odd feeling about this small meeting, but ignored it another time as he went and followed Francis into his home. He led him to the clean kitchen table, where the chair had already been pulled. It looked very tidy, a small closet on the wall, and many paintings that proudly hung throughout the room.

"If you will, I can go make you some tea?" Francis whipped around to face his guest, eyes glistening.

"Yes, please." The Brit took a seat and crossed his legs, hoping Francis knew how he liked his tea. When Francis left the room, Arthur moved his head around, scanning the room of the decor and wonderful features. He was quiet impressed if how nice it all looked, he always thought that Francis would have a messy and odd smelling home. Though, Francis was still a nasty frog to him. And he wasn't wrong about one more thing; the smell. He hadn't noticed until he came into the kitchen, and surprised that Francis hadn't said anything about it, and even more surprised that Arthur just now noticed it. It was very strong and potent, smelling like rotting trash or even worse. His nose was aching from the horrible stench, and he needed to find out what it was so he could inform Francis to take care of it. He started to move it head in all directions, trying to find the source. He gagged when he faced the closet, and slapped a hand over his mouth and nose; starting to feel sick. "What the bloody hell is that smell?" Arthur kept his voice down, not wanting to disturb the somehow oblivious Francis, who was still in the kitchen. He got up from his seat, and started to walk to the closet, he wanted to know the exact source of this infernal stench.

When he reached the closet, he looked down at his feet. His eyes widened at what he was seeing. A strange multi colored liquid was slowly pooling out of the bottom of the door with a large portion of the liquid being red. As it came out, bubbles started to pop and made Arthur feel very sick. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to open the door now, but forced a hand away from his mouth and placed it on the door knob. He started to twist, and once the hinge came undone in the knob, the door burst open in its own, forcing Arthur to jump back to avoid the objects the fell from he closet. He fell on this back, making a loud noise, but still somehow not enough for Francis to come in. He quickly looked in front on him to see what he had avoided, and he saw the worst thing he's ever seen in his life.

Two bodies lay on the ground outside the closet door, more of the strange liquid started to pool around the bodies and making its way to Arthur's foot. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, letting his eyes focus a bit more, he realized he worse part. He recognized these people in front of him, obviously dead. One of the people had a curl that looped once and the other had a piece of hair that stuck up, both having beautiful blond hair soaked in red. Both had glasses, and Arthur knew in the pit of this stomach what he was seeing.

"Alfred... M-Mathew!" His voice cracked and his eyes filled with horror, but he saw still in too much shock to cry. His eyes traveled from their clouded eyes and blood soaked hair, down to their matted clothes. He saw that in many areas, that the clothes had holes and dark red stains, showing that they had been stabbed to death. His mouth gaped open, not knowing what to do but reach his hand out. Arthur's hand gently pushed the hair out of Alfred's face, showing his broken glasses, clouded eyes and a dried stream of blood coming from his mouth and nose. His hand retracted and he tensed up again. ' _What has happened to my boys? And why are they in Francis's house?!'_ He couldn't think straight, the full realization of their deaths finally sunk in as he let out an ear splitting scream. He was terrified, scared of who or whatever did this.

"Hm? Ah I see you found your present early, Arthur." He whipped around to see Francis standing behind him, one hand holding the tea and the other hidden behind his back. His eyes widened with terror when he saw Francis laugh and make that remark, he had no idea what to do or say to this.

"F-Francis, what the hell is wrong with you?! Your own boy, Mathew has been stabbed to death in your own house! And my dearest Alfred!" Arthur shouted at him, staying on the floor. Francis just gave a irritated but playful glare and set the cup of tea down on the table. With the one hand still behind his back, he took one step forward.

"Wanna play a game? I know Mathew loved games, Alfred too, now didn't he?" Francis was really starting to scare Arthur now, but then Francis removed his hand from behind his back to reveal a long knife. It was covered in dried blood and shone when the light hit it. Arthur's eyes moved from the knife to Francis, who's expression looked psychotic and devilish. ' _What the hell is going on? Oh shit...'_ Not wanting to waste any more time, Arthur got up quickly and ran for the front door, he wasn't going to die at the hands of that frog. As he ran, he could hear the sound of the knife being jammed into the table, and Francis running after him. His heart was beating so fast, he could feel it in his throat. Reaching the door, Arthur slammed his hands around the door knob and tried turning it with a jerk of his wrist. This caused his wrist to snap because the door had been locked, so he let out a shriek of pain and grasped his wrist in his other hand.

"Fucking hell!"

Then Arthur's vision went dark.

* * *

When Arthur woke up, he blinked his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He tried moving, but looked down and saw that he was tied by old thick rope to a chair. He started to panic, not knowing where he was, his torso and arms started to thrash side to side; trying to wiggle out of the ropes. No good, but then a massive wave of pain hit him in the forehead, which made him remember that he had been knocked out by Francis. His face winced in pain and he squinted one eye open, scanning the room for Francis. The walls around him where concrete, stained with dark, drawn on figures. He tried to make out what they were, but couldn't, so he gave up and continued to search his surroundings. When his eyes moved to the floor beneath him, he saw that it was covered in dried blood. Splatters of it spread around the room, and where he sat, was where most of it was. He immediately thought he was in some horror movie, or that this was just another one of Alfred's sick pranks. But he really knew it wasn't.

A small reflection caught his eye, making his body freeze and his head whip up. It had gone away, but then he heard quiet footsteps walking right at him. He could see the shapes of boots and legs start to come into view, another second and an entire figure of a man stood in front of him. The reflection was cast again by something the man was holding, it swung tauntingly.

"Good morning." The voice sounded happy, and Arthur recognized it quickly.

"Francis? Where the hell am I? Why am i tied to a cha- AHHH!" Arthur let of a shriek of pain when Francis interrupted by stepping forward and slashing his knife into his cheek.

"Shut up." His voice became cold and harsh, Arthur still wincing from the pain as blood oozed from the cut. It dripped onto his clothes and onto the floor, _'What the hell is Francis doing all this for? What's gotten into him? Damn this hurts!'._

"Stop asking questions, I told you that we where going to play a game, didn't i? You already saw what happened to Alfred and Mathew, that's what happens when you loose the game." Arthur struggled to open one of his eyes to look at Francis, hatred boiling in his blood. "Want to know how to play?" Francis smiled yet again with taunting eyes.

"No, I want you to untie me and let me go!" Arthur spat his words, the pain in his cheek was starting to ease, but not enough to keep him from scrunching his face more. Francis's face slowly morphed from a taunting state, to a more devilish and sinister glare. He twirled the knife in his hand and walked to Arthur again. He jerked the knife up at the Brits throat so that it gently pressed into the skin, but not cutting.

"Wrong answer." Francis pulled the knife away in a swift motion and jabbed it diagonally so that it left a deep gash in his thigh. Arthur let out another scream, this one more fierce than the last, and Francis only smiled back. Arthur hung his head down while puffing and gasping for breath. The blood started to rise from the gash and soak his pants, flowing down his leg and onto the floor. ' _So this is why the floor is covered in blood.._.' He didn't know how he would get out of this situation, all he could do now was obey what Francis told him to to do and hope it didn't kill him in the process.

Francis pulled brown leather gloves from his pocket and began to slip them on, his face looked stiff. When he finished, he got close to Arthur and sat on his lap, not caring about the blood oozing onto both their pants. He put his hand under Arthur's chin and raked his head up, putting the knife to his cheek with the other hand.

"If you want to survive, you need to know the rules. If you fight, you'll die quicker. So listen, mon cher. You'll have to survive an entire month with me and my friend here." Francis moved the blade of the knife up to his eye, showing how sharp and intimidating it was. "And if you survive, I'll let you out. There's some rules; you can't scream for help, try to escape, or resist. And there's one rule I have to follow myself, sadly. I will not be able to engage in anything with you, or fondle you. I don't think that's right."

"But you think tying me up and torturing me is?" Arthur scowled at him, not yet understanding why he was still doing this.

"I said no resisting. No asking questions either." He moved the blade to Arthur's neck and pressed down. "Or something unpleasant will happen next time." The knife backed away, thankfully not leaving any cuts on his neck. "I'll feed you occasionally and the rest of the time, you'll have to sit and wait until I come home." His mouth curled into another smile and he hopped off Arthur's lap, looking down to see his blood soaked pants. He made a small whimper sound and walked away. Arthur could hear the sound of a door close and let his head drop back down. His hands where tied behind him and they where stating to hurt badly. ' _How can I survive a month of this? I'll bleed out by tomorrow if this keeps up!'_ The pain in his leg and cheek where becoming unbearable, only ten minutes had passed, and he was already soaked in blood. Great. He sat there and let the blood flow off his face and over his mouth, not wanting to taste his own. The small drips of blood onto the concrete floor where the only sounds besides Arthur's own raspy breath. He still couldn't wrap his head around why Francis was doing this to him, it obviously wasn't a joke, he was being cut up for Christs sake! His head was already starting to hurt from his blood loss, and his vision was becoming more blurry. Though, he snapped back to reality when he heard the door open again and foot steps heading his way. He couldn't see what was happening around him from his blurry and fading vision, but he could still hear. What sounded like a metal object was placed beside him and he could hear the clang of the object.

"Hononon, mon cher, you're already bleeding out. That's no good, good thing you and Alfred are the same blood type. I'll make some lunch later, and make it last, you wont get food again for a while." His eyes grew wide, _'What is Francis doing? Why does it matter that Alfred and I are the same blo- Wait. Oh god please no!_ ' He could feel Francis grab his arm and stick an IV in it. He knew that Francis was doing a blood transfer so that he wouldn't die on the first day. Though, knowing that you where being injected with your dead sons blood, didn't go so well with Arthur. He was still too weak to resist, so he sat there in submission and felt his humanity slip down the drain.

Francis walked away laughing, "I can't waste my precious food on you!" then the door slammed shut.

* * *

Francis sat in is study, the lights dimmed with the light of his computer shinning in his face. He knew what he had gotten himself into, but didn't want to deal with pretending that he did't know a thing. He sighed and held his head in his hands. He thought for a moment and laughed in his hands, thinking of how fun this next month will be with Arthur. His head raised from his hands and turned off the computer, smiling again as he sat in the darkness; alone.

* * *

Arthur blinked open his eyes, feeling the cold and muggy room around him. The crust in his eyes bothered and itched, but he could not reach it. He had dreamed that he was stuck, trapped, captured in a room and was slowly dying at the hands of a loved one. And yet he awoke to it's reality, feeling the IV still prick in his arm as blood flowed from his dead son, into him. He was too weak to care or resist, even if he did, it would cause more damage and blood loss. How was he supposed to survive a month of this? He hadn't even been fed the previous day, making his stomach ache and wrench. All he felt was pain and exhaustion, consuming even the slightest of his movements. This was truly a living hell, and the worst was still yet to come.

Arthur heard the door open, creaking at the hinges. He looked up slightly, seeing Francis walk down the steps, still accompanied with a long sharp knife. His eyes sunk back in, not wanting this hell to keep its progress, he wanted to either die or leave that very moment. He sat, defeated and lethargic, Francis walked toward him as the bucket kicked his legs at every step. Reaching him, Francis set the bucket down between Arthur's knees and grabbed Arthur's wrist with his one free hand and tugged it loose from the ropes. He didn't try to resist, and went along with what his captor was doing. Placing the knife along the wrist, he didn't look up at the Brit, but pushed down and jerked his arm horizontally as the knife sliced deep into flesh. Arthur let out a scream on agony, not expecting him to slit his wrist, and especially not as violently. His face molded into a long lasting expression of pain, feeling as Francis place the knife back onto his wrist and continue to cut more and more along his wrists, each cut being deeper than the last. The bucket below him splattered with blood as the drops became steady streams flowing off his wrist. Although, Arthur started to feel numb, his face relaxed a bit and he could no longer feel his limbs or the cutting. A warm sensation came over him and wrapped him up like a blanket, he felt comforted and happy. He had never felt so blissful, and then a soft glowing light started to come into sight. Two figures also where invited into his vision, one stood in the background smiling, and the other was standing closer to him, waving. They both looked so happy. He could start to make out more details of the faces as the light grew brighter, now he could recognize the two figures. Mathew and Alfred. They both stood with smiles, looking clean and beckoning for him to come with them. Arthur smiled back, seeing his boys happy, not even remembering the horrific death they suffered. In the back of his head, Arthur heard a faint curse and running. Then suddenly, the warm light started to burn like paper. Alfred and Mathew's expressions turned to fear and desperation as they reached out and try to grab Arthur's hand to pull him back, but the paper kept burning and the warmth turned to an ice cold breeze. The atmosphere came back to that same muggy and cold feeling, his vision came back to his lap, and the pain coming from his arm hit him like a train. He tried to clench his fist, but he couldn't no matter how hard he tried to squeeze his fingers together. His eyes peeled open and glanced down at his arm and wrist. His arm looked like a battle field, multiple cuts scatter his arm, leaving folds of flesh handing and blood oozing down his arm and off his fingers. Dark and crusted blood covered his palm, and when the sight of his wrist processed in his mind, he almost couldn't believe it. He saw thick white strands in his wrist in two pieces, they had been sliced through by the knife and left. He knew they were his tendons, and they had been completely cut; meaning he would never be able to move his fingers again with how much damage had been done.

"What… Have you done to me?" Arthur felt tears prick his eyes, knowing that Francis was behind him. He heard Francis give a questioning hum and then saw from the corner of his eye, as the blade of the knife quickly cut into his thigh again.

"How many times must I say no questions? I'll say what I want you to hear and that's it. But anyway, I've got to collect a lot of your blood because hell, if you run out of Alfred's, I need to be able to give you something! Can't have you die so soon, it's only been three days." Francis stayed behind him, but he could hear the sound of the bucket being picked up and carried away. He didn't bother re-tying his wrists to the chair again, so Arthur took advantage of his freedom and examined his wounds. He couldn't even believe he was alive still, his wounds should have gotten badly infected now, but somehow, they hadn't.

* * *

 **(More warnings in this section bc it gets disturbing)**

"Monsieur, look what I brought home!" Arthur didn't want to see the hell Francis brought home, but looked up anyway. Francis was carrying a green plastic container, no knife with him, thankfully. "I thought that knifes were getting a little boring already, so I got some little friends!" he shook the container at Arthur, showing off the contents. ' _If it's only been three days and he's already bored, how long will it take for him to get bored of me?_ ' His eyes moved down to see what was in the container and swallowed hard when he saw it was full of centipedes, spiders and other insects. Francis smiled at Arthur's reaction, and placed the small box on the ground by the chair. Arthur's arms were still free, but with both wrists having no working tendons to move his hands, he was useless. Francis didn't try to tie him back up, but instead opened the container and picked up a centipede. He raised it to the front of Arthur's face and let it crawl up his nose, but kept his grip on its behind. Arthur eyed the insect intensely as it moved on his nose, it made it's way over his eye and he yelped and jerked his head away. Francis grabbed his face and pulled him back over, his face was sadistic and harsh. "Last warning, mon cher." The insect was once again place on his face, and this time, it went right for his eye. He knew it would be best to obey what the Frenchman was telling him, so he did. Arthur bared his teeth and bit into his lip, feeling this skin break under the pressure and taste the metallic liquid flow over his tongue and teeth. The bug moved quickly to his eye and nuzzled his eye lid forcefully. He tightened his eyes, trying to win against the bug that tired to get under, but the bug won as Francis let go of it and let it push it's way under his eye lid. Arthur jerked his head back and screamed, the pain of the bug scratching at his eye and trying to go farther into the socket, the rest of it's body wiggling around his face. Francis rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet in laughter, seeing the Brit screaming with the insect dig and crawl at his eye. The centipede found a small crack in the corner of his eye and started to push at it, getting farther and deeper into his eye socket. Francis clutched his stomach from laughing too hard and reached over and grabbed the insect, pulling it away from Arthur's face. He kept screaming in pain, his eye started to bleed from the scratches of the centipedes feet.

"P-Please stop this, now!" Arthur started to cry streams of tears and blood, he never thought it was possible to endure this much pain and survive. But, he got no response, instead Francis wanted to continue the 'fun' by dumping all the insects on his body at once. They flooded the areas of his wounds, digging in them for the warmth of a human body, ripping small pieces of flesh off to snack on, and crawling up his chest and in his hair. Arthur screamed again, making his vocal chords sting and burn from overuse, but he couldn't help it, the pests infested his body; giving him no peace or rest. Francis just about lost his mind, falling on the floor and slapping a hand over his mouth as his eyes stayed locked onto the poor soul.

This kept going off-and-on for a week, Arthur would be covered in the insects and Francis would sit back and enjoy that days torture session. But one day, Arthur grew the balls to ask Francis one more question, even after receiving one final warning a week earlier. He had only one working eye now, and so he opened it and glanced at the laughing Frenchman and moved his lips in a ghost like movement.

"We've fought wars against each other, we've fought wars together, and had our disagreements. But why go this far on me? And only me? Why did you kill our children, your own boy!" Arthur raised his voice to a cry and watched as Francis stopped laughing and looked up. He got himself in a seated position and looked deeply in Arthur's one good eye, going back to his normal harsh and coldness.

"I'm surprised it took you this long to ask that, or even grow some real courage. You're a real wuss. Though, you have survived two weeks, half way there. I'd hate for you to leave so early, mon cher." Arthur bit into his bruised and bloody lip even more.

"Answer my question." Francis was surprised at how harsh he was being, even after that days torture and how brutal it was compared to past days.

"Well you see, we have always been major rivals as you know. I've always lost to you, and Mathew separated from me and went on his own, then your boy and mine became close. How else am I supposed to win once and for all? I took away your precious child and made him suffer by seeing the death of mine. Killing people hurts less than you'd think really, so I had no problem killing yours. Now I have you, and this is my last test to see if I really can ever win against you." He got up from his seat and walked to Arthur, putting one hand under his chin and lifting his head up. "So, shall we continue?" His eyes narrowed in and the corners of his mouth curled up. Arthur felt a sickening feeling in his gut and vomited in his face. Francis jumped back in disgust and glared back at him. All of the small portions of food that had been given to him and been expelled at once, leaving his stomach aching to be filled with nutrients. He had barely been fed enough to stay alive at the time he had been held captive. But Francis didn't care, his faced was pure revulsion as he stood a few feet away, vomit and stomach acid dripping from his clothes. His breathing hitched in disgust and turned his attention back to Arthur and gritted his teeth. Arthur lifted his head and saw Francis stomp towards him, then feel a hand slap up his chin and hold it tightly.

"I was going to feed you a lot tomorrow and stay easy on you, but for the next three weeks, oh you're gunna get hell." And without punishing him farther, Francis just left the room with the container of insects and slammed the door shut.

"Great..." Arthur let his head hang, every part of his body cried out in torment. It felt as if everything was being slowly ripped to pieces, but the ironic thing was; that's exactly what was going on. Francis was tearing and letting bugs eat away at his body, at this point, sexual assault would be better than being cut up even more. He didn't know how much more he could take, or how much longer his mind could keep from going completely insane. Each torture session lasted around ten to twenty minutes, but the aching pain and teeth shattering agony made each one five hours. And yet at the end of everyday, Arthur would be left alone in the dark abyss with no food or water, while Francis continued his life. He would brag about how good of an actor he was when police or friends asked where he was, and that he had no idea. But now he wait in his study and think of new ways to agonize the Brit into farther dismay and chagrin. The goal of the parade being thrown here was still unclear in Arthur's mind, but he's now learned to keep it hidden under the blankets of his lips and not let it out.

* * *

The sound of the door creaking open make Arthur blink his eyes slowly to the point he could make out the dried blood in front of him. He heard footsteps, but no talking. Then it hit him, the strong smell of hot and freshly baked goods. His nostrils flared in the wonderful sent, his eyes and head shot up to try and find the source. He couldn't believe it when he saw Francis walking towards him with two large platters of food, obviously fresh and home made. A wide grin showed on the Frenchman's face as he reached his company and set the platters on the ground.

"I know that I said I would be hard on you, but you look so cute! So, I made you all this!" He gestured to the platters with such enthusiasm, it was a bit sickening. Something felt wrong, but Arthur ignored his suspicion with his only thought on the food and how hungry he was. His mouth watered and dripped, making Francis laugh and grab a small loaf of steaming bread. he held it close to Arthur's mouth and let him bite into it, the steam rising up and the crust breaking and crunching. Nothing had ever tasted as good as that bread did, making him thrash his head forward for even more bites until nothing but a hand was left. Francis laughed and grabbed a small cake from the platter and held it for him to eat. So much time past of eating small snacks, scarfing them down and not even complaining about ones he didn't like; he hadn't eaten in days. Francis even let him have the first taste of a new ice cold water, letting the ingredients wash down his throat into his expanding stomach.

Another loaf of bread was held to Arthur's face, but he was less desperate for it now, gasping for air. He was eating so fast, he was sure noting more could fit in his stomach. Francis gave a confused face and bent over in front of him.

"What's the matter? I don't think you've had enough to eat , mon cher." His face grew evil, reaching for more food, he this time plowed right into Arthur's face and forced the bread into his mouth. He could feel his throat want to reject the food as he started to gag, but Francis just kept pushing. As the bread was lodged deeper down his throat, Francis started to quickly grab more and more food and plow them into his mouth, Arthur had his eyes bulging and rolling back into his head. The devil look on Francis' face scared him, too much was going on and he was already too weak to do anything about it. He was suffocating and starting to turn purple, but Francis' adrenaline rush wasn't over as he went at a faster pace, a mess of cakes, bread, and other pastries were all over the floor and their clothes. But finally, Arthur had worked enough force to push the air from his lungs and vomit everything once again. Francis jumped back in time, and looked at the Brit, who was blue faced and wheezing. He curled a grin and huffed, Arthur didn't look up, but instead looked at the regurgitated pastries.

"Don't you fuck with me again, Arthur." And with that, he turned on his heels and walked out. Arthur couldn't believe that he had been fooled into thinking that he was actually getting that much amazing quality food, especially from Francis. But then the door opened again, this time Arthur did look up, and he saw Francis with a rope and knife. He did 't get too scared, thinking he would just tie his arms up again and cut the old ones away, but then he saw that the knife was more of a hunters knife, and the rope...it was so long and very thick. He couldn't even describe the sorts of disturbing that mans face was, but it scared him to death. "Let's try this punishment as well, shall we?" _'Bloody fucking hell...'_ When Francis dropped the rope and knife by him, he waled to the corner of the room and retried two buckets of Arthur's collected blood from two weeks ago. The buckets where brought over and the IV was placed in his arm, he knew that this involved a high amount of cutting his flesh, and he felt like vomiting even more if he had anything left in his tank. Francis then looked above Arthur and reached up to pull down a hook, then running the rope through it. He bent down and tied it to Arthur's destroyed writs, then started to wring it up. It had been so long since Arthur stood up, he was sure that he would have a million blood clots already forming in his legs, but his legs shot pain through him with the motion of being pulling from his feet by the rope. As it reached as high as it could go, he was at eye level with that frog, who still kept the indescribable face and the hunters knife clutched in his fist. His hand moved up to caress Arthur's chin,

"You don't smile anymore, mon cher. Let me help you." The chilling words sent a whirlpool of fear in his head, Francis pulling the knife up to the corners of Arthur's mouth and hesitated. He winked one time then pulled the knife back on his mouth, forcing the knife to slice through his cheek and to the bone. The muscle had been severed and half his jaw now hung wide open, tears started to flow out and whimpers crept from his throat. The blade moved to the other side and pulled the other direction, tearing through even more of his face. The blood came out in a steady flow into another bucket that was placed below him, splattering against the plastic. Francis stepped back and held his grin in his hand.

"Beautiful, look at that smile!" Arthur felt the life flow out of him and his entire face go numb, knowing he could never movie his jaw again. It hung low and gave the familiar Glasgow smile, resembling the joker, and even terrifying himself.

"Now, you don't seam to have a very warm heart either, maybe we should look at that?" Francis moved forward and put the blades point to Arthur's chest and pressed slightly. Arthur didn't move, he had officially gave up on trying to live anymore. The blade point pressed harder and slowly worked it's way down, cutting into his shirt and through his skin. A small trail of blood started to seep out, but both men whipped their heads around at the sound of the basement door being banged against.

" _M_ _erde..."_ Arthur could hear Francis whisper under his breath, even though he didn't speak french, he knew what the translation would be. The door pounded again and then splinters of wood flew into the room when the door burst open. Francis held up his arms to cover his face from the debris. They heard a strong voice echo from the door frame,

"Is anyone in there?" Then what sounded like twenty men shuffle in, finding Francis and screaming at him to drop the knife. He did as he was told, and hey quickly put handcuffs on him and dragged him out of the house, then one came beside Arthur and placed a single hand on his back.

"Sir, Sir? Are you still with me, sir?"

"Y-yes..." The words were choked out and raspy, hearing the man then yell for help from his partners. The rest was a blur to him, but the feeling of security and the hope of life filled his body enough to make a weak smile on his dirty face.

* * *

Arthur gazed out, with his one good eye, into the cloudy sky outside his room. He had been at the Broadmoor Hospital for a month now, after being saved from the Frenchman's basement. He was a survivor of over thirty surgeries and extreme torture. The surgeons had tried to fix his eye, wrists, and face as best as they could, but he still had no use in all of them. With no way to communicate, and suffering from extreme PTSD and other illnesses, he had been sent there. Francis, had been sent to jail to await court trial for all the damage done to him, his son, and dearest Mathew. He still had the vivid memory of when he almost died, and he was so happy ans to see his boys... They both looked so happy, and healthy. _'Death must be great'_

"Mr. Kirkland, sir. The telly is showing Mr. Bonnefoy in court at the moment, would you like to watch?" The assistant came behind him and saw as a slow nod came from Arthur's head. He adjusted the telly and turned it on, the picture showed Francis in the court room getting his sentences announced.

"With the following charges of: two accounts of first degree murder, torturing Mr. Arthur Kirkland..." He winced at the sound of his own name, but returned his eye when he noticed she was continuing. "...And the torturing of Alfred F. Jones, and Mathew Williams." His eye grew wide, and fury took it's place within his mind. ' _He made my boy and his own go through what I just did...That fucking bastard!'_ He tried to get out of his wheelchair, but the assistants came rushing over, urging him back into the seat, but all he wanted was to stab that man and make him suffer what him and his children went through as well. They finally won the fight from him still being weak, and the looked back at the flashing screen. "Mr. Bonnefoy will be sentenced to capital punishment and one two life sentences." Her hammer slammed the table and the final word had been given. Francis would die for his crimes, but was irritated Arthur was the chance that he would see his kids in the after life and hurt them even more than he already did.

But the one thing that kept him from going insane was his knowledge that his boys were safe and happy where they were, and to him, that's all he could ask for.

* * *

 **That's it! Jeez i made that pretty graphic eh? xD well, that was... interesting. I don't know what to think of this story myself. I think I'll join Arthur in the psychiatric ward. -Sam**


End file.
